Kiss With A Fist
by fallenoutofgrace
Summary: AU - After a bad break-up, the newly single Santana Lopez treats herself to a vacation overseas, only to meet a certain mohawked man on the flight there. Puck/Santana


Santana was due to spend time with her oh-so-lovely roommate that night. The last thing she wanted to do was that, but she knew it would help her get over the fact that the man she loved - the only man she had ever loved - had left her for some blonde Quinn Fabray look-alike. She should have known that he wasn't to be trusted, but what men were? Sure, her roommate was a grade-A douchelord, but at least he promised to never screw her over. But by now, one would think that Santana Lopez would know better than to trust a man.

As much as she wanted to hate Sam for telling her that Finn wasn't coming back, she couldn't. Not when he had been the only person to care the slightest about her. Even Brittany, the girl who had captured her heart all through high school, didn't care about the Latina anymore. Her own mother, her own flesh and blood, abandonned her for some skeez that she could mooch off of. Was Santana really that hard to love? Couldn't at least one person spare her a single fuck?

Santana let out a sigh as she ruffled through the massive amounts of take-out menus located in a half-broken drawer in her dinky kitchen. Breadstix did deliver, right? In the past, Breadstix would always make her bad mood vanish, and by now she was desperate for a good time. After finding the worn out menu, she placed an order over the phone, silently praising the heavens above that Breadstix actually delivered, Santana searched for her favorite brand of raspberry vodka from her limited alcohol selection. Raspberry vodka and Breadstix? The best combination Santana Lopez had ever created.

With her vodka in her hand, Santana flopped onto the couch, turning on some crappy really TV show. She rolled her eyes at Kim Kardashian's "Dream Wedding." _Dream wedding that lasted, what? 72 days?_ If Kim Kardashian couldn't find love, could she? There must be the ideal man out there for her somewhere.

The Kardashian clan got old real quick, so Santana flipped the TV off and glanced at the clock above the TV monitor. Another half an hour before her Breadstix would be at her front door and she could already smell the delicious breadsticks and the fake Italian food. One day, Santana would find out what authentic Italian food would taste like.

_Why can't that one day be tomorrow?_ She was living off her trust fund, no job, no boyfriend; so why couldn't she just leave without warning? Who was there to care? Besides Sam, but she assumed that he would understand her motives. Italy was what she needed. No, travelling was what she needed. There she was, a twenty four year old woman, and the farthest place she had ever been was to Mexico. Her abuela had always told her that every female should travel around Europe at least once in her lifetime, and now it was Santana's turn.

She booked the soonest flight, about four hours from the time she ordered Breadstix, and scampered around her apartment, throwing her necessities in a suit case and found her passport, which, surprisingly, hadn't expired yet. She had what she needed, and that was all that mattered. Santana left her roommate alone, her Breadstix delivery in the cold, and her old life behind.

Hailing a taxi in New York was harder than she expected for a Saturday night at ten. She managed, though, demanding that the driver drives her to the airport in the shortest amount of time. Much like normal New York City traffic, the drive was as long as she expected. Sighing, Santana leaned her head against the cold glass of the taxi cab window. She could feel the can driver's beatty eyes on her, which felt like he was going to drive up a secluded street and have her way with her. Not wanting to get molested on her perfect night, Santana threw a twenty towards him and slid out of the car, pulling her suit case with her. JFK wasn't too far from where they already were, so they walk wouldn't be too torturous.

After hurrying to the airport, Santana bought her ticket and checked her one bag. Behind her in the security line was a man with muscles as big as her head. Maybe that was an overstatement, but they were big. If Santana hadn't been mourning the breakup of her boyfriend of three years, she would have chatted him up in line. After all, he did seem like he was her type, but she wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of that country and get to Italy.

Santana walked through her terminal aimlessly, knowing full well that her flight didn't depart for another hour. She contemplated getting some sleeping because sleeping on planes was never something she had been able to do. A sigh escaped her lips as she found the boarding station, taking a seat in the emptiest row of cushioned chairs and placing her headphones in her ears.

Not long after she had sat down, a man sat in the chair directly to her right. She yanked the headphones out of her head and glared are him. Did he really have to sit right next her? There were at least fifteen other open seats. Then she gave him a one over, realizing that this was the guy behind her in security. She noted his obnoxious hair cut and the goofy grin spread on his lips, showing his perfectly aligned top row of teeth.

"I'm sorry, is there something you want? Or do you enjoy being creepy as fuck all the damn time?"

The mohawked man smirked down at her, his hazel eyes more or less smothering her. "Goin' to Italy, hot stuff?" He was one of those guys that you couldn't help but smile at him. His silly mohawk and shining smile contributed to his perfection.

Santana opened her mouth, searching for the proper words to say. "Italy, maybe visiting a few other countries while I'm across the pond. What about yourself?" Her mother had always told her not to talk to strangers, but _Holy fuck_ she had never been in the presence of someone so breathtaking. She attempted to place her headphones back in and drown out this next to perfect man beside her, but he kept on talking.

"Italy. My baby sister is getting married out there to some dude. She's only like, nineteen. Who gets married when they're that young?"

Shaking her head, Santana ran her fingers over the smooth surface of her iPod. "Someone who is in love." _Love._ It was something she thought she felt about Finn, but didn't know after he left her. Trying to shake the memories out of her head, she looked at him once more. "She's nineteen, I highly doubt that she appreciates you calling her your baby sister."

"Love is overrated." Witha shake of his head, he frowned but carried on with the conversation. "She got used to it. You going to Italy for a reason?"

Santana glared at the mohawked man. "What, are we playing twenty questions?" Her tones was snappy and she poped her gum she was chewing. Maybe she was being a bitch, but she couldn't help it.

Puck lifted his hand sup in surrender. "Just tryin' to make small talk. Sorry if I offended you."

"Sorry... It's just been a really...hectic week for me. I'm just going to Italy just to say that I've been to Italy." That was a lie, but no one had to know that. She needed to find herself, and she would be damned if she came back to America unsuccessful.

"Well, Miss..." He paused and ran a hand over his mohawk. "I would ask for your name, but I wouldn't want you thinking I'm a creep." Letting out of laugh, he slid down one chair. "It's was nice talkin' to you, Miss Pretty. The name's Puck, by the way. Short for Puckerman. My last name."

Santana nodded at 'Puck.' "I'm Santana... Santana Lopez."


End file.
